Attention Family Members:
First, I am very sorry that your loved one is so ill. Truly it is a nightmare to have one you love so incapacitated by sickness. Nobody envies you, and on some level I think we all feel bad for you.
That being said…
…the chances of survival in this case are somewhere in the “zero” vicinity. When Daddy developed cancer, I know it seemed like he could probably fight it off. When the cancer went into remission it must have been a joyous day. But remission isn’t the same as cured. Cancer comes back, and unfortunately, Daddy’s cancer came back big. It’s everywhere. It’s in his lymph nodes, it’s in his bones, it’s in his brain and in his lungs.
The chemotherapy has weakened his already-compromised immune system to the point where the one immune cell left in his body is working really hard to try and fight off the many exotic organisms flourishing in his body. Your loved one has become a microbiologist’s playground: there are so many fun and exciting new bugs infecting his body that we don’t know where to begin treatment. There are bugs growing in there that we’ve never heard of. CDC has been notified. They are as baffled as we are.
And all those bugs running around have created some big problems, haven’t they? The pneumonia that we just can’t shake, the urosepsis, the systemic sepsis…why, if it wasn’t for our miraculous chemical interventions, his body would have shut down and he would have slipped away. Thank goodness for our drugs and our machines! They can do a lot, can’t they? It’s true that we can sometimes work miracles. But the deeper truth is, our chemistry and our machines can only go so far.
I wish it was different, I really do, but your loved one is going to die.
However, I know that can be hard to accept. I understand that denial is part of the process. But you’ve been in denial for months and months now. Your loved one is withering away in front of you. You can hope, you can pray, you can call on God and the Angels and any celestial powers you would like to call on. That does not change reality. God may listen to prayers, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get your wish. Remember that he who made kittens put snakes in the grass. Remember the Lord’s Prayer: thy will be done. Not my will but thy will. Your prayers are not going to get you what you want.
Ultimately, I know that telling you this isn’t going to change your mind. The ICU doctors have spoken to you. The infectious disease people have spoken to you. Progress notes have been written: prognosis grim. Family maintains belief in spontaneous recovery against all odds despite concurrence of opinion to the contrary. Pastoral Care has spoken to you. I have spoken to you, nursing has spoken to you, but you’re not hearing what we’re saying to you. You’ve taken steps to actively discourage us from telling you the truth: the big sign over the head of the bed reading POSITIVE WORDS ONLY does not change the fact that we have no positive words to tell you.
I guess what I’m trying to tell you is this: I feel for you, but I think you’re ignorant. I think what you are doing to your loved one is wrong. You are not giving him “a good chance” because he never even had a chance. You’re prolonging the agony, denying him a fast and comfortable and dignified death. I know your pastor has told you that vigorous prayer can reverse this, but he’s selling you snake oil. You’re being misguided. When God tried to take him away the first time, you wouldn’t let it happen, but the thing is you’re going to lose in the end. And the longer you drag it out the more heartache you’re going to make for yourself.
But you’re not going to listen to me. You won’t listen to any of us. You’ll sit their in your own little world, grasping at straws and hoping for a spontaneous recovery against the odds. I’ve tried to talk with you but it hasn’t worked, so I’m going to just do my job quietly and quickly and then leave. I have nothing else to say to you. I wish that you were right, and that Daddy was going to recover and be his old self again…
…but I know that you’re wrong.
Attention Family Members:
First, I am very sorry that your loved one is so ill. Truly it is a nightmare to have one you love so incapacitated by sickness. Nobody envies you, and on some level I think we all feel bad for you.
That being said…
…the chances of survival in this case are somewhere in the “zero” vicinity. When Daddy developed cancer, I know it seemed like he could probably fight it off. When the cancer went into remission it must have been a joyous day. But remission isn’t the same as cured. Cancer comes back, and unfortunately, Daddy’s cancer came back big. It’s everywhere. It’s in his lymph nodes, it’s in his bones, it’s in his brain and in his lungs.
The chemotherapy has weakened his already-compromised immune system to the point where the one immune cell left in his body is working really hard to try and fight off the many exotic organisms flourishing in his body. Your loved one has become a microbiologist’s playground: there are so many fun and exciting new bugs infecting his body that we don’t know where to begin treatment. There are bugs growing in there that we’ve never heard of. CDC has been notified. They are as baffled as we are.
And all those bugs running around have created some big problems, haven’t they? The pneumonia that we just can’t shake, the urosepsis, the systemic sepsis…why, if it wasn’t for our miraculous chemical interventions, his body would have shut down and he would have slipped away. Thank goodness for our drugs and our machines! They can do a lot, can’t they? It’s true that we can sometimes work miracles. But the deeper truth is, our chemistry and our machines can only go so far.
I wish it was different, I really do, but your loved one is going to die.
However, I know that can be hard to accept. I understand that denial is part of the process. But you’ve been in denial for months and months now. Your loved one is withering away in front of you. You can hope, you can pray, you can call on God and the Angels and any celestial powers you would like to call on. That does not change reality. God may listen to prayers, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to get your wish. Remember that he who made kittens put snakes in the grass. Remember the Lord’s Prayer: thy will be done. Not my will but thy will. Your prayers are not going to get you what you want.
Ultimately, I know that telling you this isn’t going to change your mind. The ICU doctors have spoken to you. The infectious disease people have spoken to you. Progress notes have been written: prognosis grim. Family maintains belief in spontaneous recovery against all odds despite concurrence of opinion to the contrary. Pastoral Care has spoken to you. I have spoken to you, nursing has spoken to you, but you’re not hearing what we’re saying to you. You’ve taken steps to actively discourage us from telling you the truth: the big sign over the head of the bed reading POSITIVE WORDS ONLY does not change the fact that we have no positive words to tell you.
I guess what I’m trying to tell you is this: I feel for you, but I think you’re ignorant. I think what you are doing to your loved one is wrong. You are not giving him “a good chance” because he never even had a chance. You’re prolonging the agony, denying him a fast and comfortable and dignified death. I know your pastor has told you that vigorous prayer can reverse this, but he’s selling you snake oil. You’re being misguided. When God tried to take him away the first time, you wouldn’t let it happen, but the thing is you’re going to lose in the end. And the longer you drag it out the more heartache you’re going to make for yourself.
But you’re not going to listen to me. You won’t listen to any of us. You’ll sit their in your own little world, grasping at straws and hoping for a spontaneous recovery against the odds. I’ve tried to talk with you but it hasn’t worked, so I’m going to just do my job quietly and quickly and then leave. I have nothing else to say to you. I wish that you were right, and that Daddy was going to recover and be his old self again…
…but I know that you’re wrong.